


cardinal rules

by regionals



Series: cardinal rules [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 18:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5754049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regionals/pseuds/regionals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a cardinal rule. Don't hang out with Pete Wentz. (reuploaded + heavily edited.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	cardinal rules

**Author's Note:**

> SO i accidentally deleted the other version of this so i went through and picked apart the other document and rewrote most of it and took out a bunch of unnecessary shit. anyways i have a companion piece to this in the process of being written so yh here we go

**Mikey**

It’s a cardinal rule. Don’t hang out with Pete Wentz.

He’s not a bad guy. Really, he’s not. He may be a little annoying, but he’s not a bad guy. He just has a knack, though, of getting everyone who hangs out with him into hairy situations. It’s happened enough that most everyone, aside from three people, have learned to follow the rule.

Patrick Stump, who you think is Pete’s best friend, seems too stubborn to be pulled into Pete’s bad luck. Joe Trohman and Andy Hurley both seem to just not give a shit, you know?

Of course, you break the rule as soon as Pete approaches you with that damn award winning grin and mesmerizing green eyes. It’s like a scene out of a bad romance movie. He asks you if you’d be interested in joining him and a few friends on a camping trip to celebrate graduation. There’s a small alarm in the back of your head, saying, “Don’t do it, Mikey. You don’t graduate for another year and you know that Pete has a reputation. You’re going to pay for it later, dude.” Obviously, though, you don’t listen to the alarm in the back of your head. You’re a horny seventeen year old, what can you say?

 

Come Friday, Pete picks you up first. He informs you that it’s first-come first-served with seating, so you take it as a hint to grab shotgun. His van is shitty, but it just seems so _Pete._ On the way to pick up Patrick, Pete cracks jokes that make you smile so hard and so wide that you’re pretty sure your face is going to break in half. Pete’s charming, handsome, and he’s basically the real life Prince Charming.

When Patrick climbs into the van, Pete makes a jab at his choice in clothing, but Patrick shuts him down so quickly that you’re pretty sure that you caught a whiff of whiplash from it. You’d _never_ heard two people bicker like that before, but Pete laughed off Patrick’s response, so you figured you’d do the same.

Andy’s house is the third stop on the trip. As soon as he’s situated, Patrick proceeds to use Andy’s lap as a footrest. After a while, Andy gives up trying to shove Patrick’s legs off of his own. He goes into some weird Zen-mode, and you decide, in that moment, that he’s kind of scary. Cool, but scary.

 

The trip is going great, if you’re honest. On the third night, while the four of you are huddled around a campfire, telling stories and gossiping like girls, you smell something putrid. “Do you guys smell that, or is it just me?”

“Whoever smelt it dealt it,” Pete mutters out as a response.

Patrick elbows Pete, and gives you a better answer. “Does it smell like rotting meat? Because if so, then yes, I smell it.” Everyone sniffs the air, and you’d find it comical, if not for what happened next.

This humanoid thing comes stumbling out of the trees.

You all but shit yourself, Pete’s frozen to his spot, Patrick’s pretty much crab-walking backwards, and Andy’s going for the thing with a fireplace poker that, now you think about it, you’re glad Pete decided to bring along.

 

The drive back to town was even more horrifying. Everyone was whispering profane questions. The town was pretty much vacant, except for more of the _things._ Everyone grew even more horrified after realizing that some of the things were scarily similar to people that any of you knew.

After another fifteen minutes of driving around, Pete suggests heading towards his house, which is in a gated neighborhood. No one protests.

 

 

**Mikey**

After Pete had run out of food, and clothes, the four of you pretty much _have_ to venture out. You’re scared, and you lose your lunch the minute you see another one of the things in the middle of an abandoned Walmart. Patrick kills that one. You can hear Pete muttering a prayer under his breath.

Andy shows up a minute or two later with a cart, and the four of you traipse through the Walmart, tossing blankets, pillows, canned food, and other necessities into it. You guys pray that there aren’t any cops or employees left in the town, since it takes about three trips in and out of the store before enough supplies are gathered.

 

Fast forward a month: The four of you are hunkered down in some shitty trailer house in another town that had about 1,000 citizens, trying to wait out a horde of what you’d taken to calling rotters, due to their rotting smell. Patrick made a comment about it sounding cheesy, but Pete had asked, “Do you have any better ideas?”

Patrick had shut up pretty quickly after that.

Andy had come up with a theory about the rotters. “I think if they bite someone or like… infect them or whatever, then the person turns into one. I’ve noticed a lot of them have bite marks or missing chunks of flesh.” The theory sounded solid, and none of you wanted to _prove_ it.

Night was a pretty shitty time. Rotters became more active, and anything producing noise or light had to cease immediately. Obviously, this had been learned the hard way after Pete and Patrick had ended up in a shouting match. (A group of them had stationed themselves outside of the only available door to the trailer, and it took about three days for them to clear out.)

Sleep didn’t come too easily, and it was taken in turns anyways. For you, at least, some of the only times you were able to sleep were when you were absolutely exhausted and couldn’t go any longer without sleep.

The situation wasn’t ideal, but it was better than being dead.

 

 

**Mikey**

The first death happened at the two month mark.

Of course, it was Andy, and _of course,_ you were the only one to personally witness it.

The two of you had been in another Walmart, looting canned food, water, and medical supplies into a gym bag, when a rotter had gotten the jump on him. As if he were a fucking beacon, more of them appeared, and he told you just to fucking run. You knew he’d be mad if you _didn’t_ run, and that Pete would probably resurrect you to kill you again if you didn’t, so you obeyed.

You ran as fast as humanly possible back to the shitty trailer, and as soon as you were sure the door was securely shut, you tossed the bag to the side and bee-lined it to the nearest garbage can. You did what you always did in stressful situations; you threw up. Then dry heaved.

You ended up passing out on the floor, curled in a fetal position, due to exhaustion. (Both emotional and physical.) You knew, deep inside, that Andy’s death would only be the first, and definitely not the last one that you’d see.

 

Pete and Patrick turned back up at dusk, and once you were properly awake, you explained the situation to them. Patrick had given you a sad look, and Pete had pretty much peeled you off the ground to give you a hug.

It was kind of awkward, but Pete and Patrick _both_ pretty much curled themselves around you in some weird gesture that was supposed to be comforting. (In a way, it was, but it was weird. Again, if the circumstances weren’t so shitty, it would be hilarious.)

 

 

**Mikey**

The other two in the group move on from Andy’s death, but you don’t, of course. Pete tries comforting you, and both of them have to express over and over again that they don’t blame you at all, and that shit just happens.

After Andy’s death, you guys move on from the trailer.

 

The first time you guys find fresh clothes… It’s like the coming of Christ. You were pretty much sobbing in glee. Most of the clothes you had were dirty, smelly, and covered in stale blood. The same went for Pete and Patrick. You and Pete immediately picked the skinny jeans and other ‘girl’ jeans from the haul. Patrick turns his nose up at it, and flips the two of you shit about keeping up with the ‘emo regime.’

“Whatever, dude. At least our asses will be looking _fly_ as _hell.”_ Patrick scoffs at you, and Pete giggles and makes a comment about you being _such_ a white boy.

“Well, my lily-white ass will be lookin’ fly as hell then.”

Before Pete can stop himself, he says, “It already does.” Patrick immediately laughs, and it doesn’t take too long for you to start laughing either.

Pete doesn’t live it down for a few months.

 

The first time Pete kisses you is while on a supply run. You have to split off from the rest of the group since you’re the quietest and fastest, and Pete kisses you for good luck.

 

You’re grabbing whatever you can from a shelf when you feel what you’re going to assume is a gun pressed to the back of your head. The gun cocks, and the person who is, presumably, holding it, asks, “Who are you? And what are you doing?” You notice he has a faint trace of a lisp.

“My name is Mikey and I’m just gathering shit to survive, dude.”

“Do you have any _buddies_ nearby? Are they going to try to kill me?”

“I have two friends, one of which couldn’t hurt a fly, and the other would probably just shake you up a bit rather than kill you.”

“What are their names?”

“Pete and Patrick.”

The gun uncocks, and the guy sighs. “They have a fucking homing device on me, I swear.”

You turn around, and catch a glimpse of Joe. “Holy shit.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m Joe.” You shake his hand.

 

**Frank**

You’re on autopilot, running from a horde. Gerard died about half an hour ago, and you’re literally just trying not to lose your shit quite yet.

The last thing he managed to say before he actually died was, “Find Mikey.”

The two of you had spent the past six months trying to find the skinny fucker, but with no luck. The only clue had been at some fancy house in the suburban part of Gerard’s home town.

_Dear whoever finds this:_

_The four of us (Pete Wentz, Patrick Stump, Andy Hurley, and Mikey Way) are going to work our way towards Columbus, then towards New York to find our friend Joe then Mikey’s brother Gerard. If anyone (ie any of our families) are reading this then yeah. As of now, mm/dd/yyyy, we’re all alive._

_-Pete_

_PS from Patrick: pete takes himself too seriously  
PS 2.0 from Pete: shut up_

After finding an abandoned apartment, you start jotting down notes, and ignoring any and all thoughts of Gerard. You can’t break yet. You can break once you find Mikey. You will literally die trying to find Mikey, because it was _literally_ Gerard’s dying wish.

You dig around the apartment until you find a map of the eastern half of the United States. You don’t know _why_ your luck begins now, but, it does.

You cross off Gerard’s home town, Chicago, Kenosha, and Columbus off the map, along with various other small towns. At the moment, you’re in some dinky town in Ohio named something like Bald Whale. Cold whale? _Caldwell._ That’s it. Caldwell.

 

After a day or two, hunger gets the best of you. You venture out of the apartment, clutching a butcher knife with one hand, and trying to keep an assault rifle situated with the other. Your eyes are peeled for rotters, and while you’re relieved that you don’t see any, it does put you off a little bit. Something doesn’t quite feel right.

You end up finding a convenience store, and you admit that you never would’ve thought that you’d be this excited over a bag of beef jerky. You find a spot in the store that you can’t be seen from to eat. You’ll probably get heartburn from the jerky, but you’d rather have acid reflux rather than die from starvation.

Before you eat the last piece, you think to yourself, “It should be some sort of cardinal rule not to get plastered with Gerard at some house party.”

(It’d taken about three months for Gerard to convince you that, no, you weren’t in the middle of some overdose-coma dream or something. You also realized that you couldn’t overdose on weed.)

 

 

 

Once sun-down comes, you start to head back. You’re probably half way from the convenience store to the apartment when you see two boys running towards you. The taller one shouts, “Horde! Fucking _run!”_

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You start running in the opposite direction. Twenty minutes and two miles later, the three of you are standing outside of a rather nice, yet slightly run down house. (Before The Turn, it was probably a _really_ nice house.)

The shorter boy steps inside of the house, and the taller one pats your shoulder and motions for you to follow, which, you _gladly_ do. A house beats an apartment any day, apocalypse or not.

Once inside, the shorter boy peels his shoes and jacket off, and introduces himself as Pete. You _try_ to introduce yourself, but your voice just _dies._ It’s absolutely wrecked, and you’re a bit frustrated because talking is a skill you _really_ need to have right now.

You pull the note out of your pocket, and hand it to Pete, on the off chance that he is _the_ Pete.

He is.

 

 

 

**Mikey**

You stare at the… manboy in front of you. (You can’t quite figure out his age. He looks young, but he looks old at the same time. He’s like an enigma.) He has Pete’s note, and he’s _apparently_ looking for the five of you. Minus Joe and plus Andy, though. Pete starts in on the interrogation, but he was being an asshole, so you shooed him off, and questioned yourself as to why you’re pretty much in love with him.

You ask him if he wants something to write on, and he nods violently.

“What’s your name?”

_Frank._

“You should be asking him where the fuck he found the note!” It takes about two seconds for you to take your shoe off and to throw it at Pete.

_I found it at Pete’s house. My boyfriend and I traveled from New York and we were working on backtracking back towards New York when he uh. Died. It’s… yeah._

“Who’s your boyfriend?” You’re shifting. Anxiously.

He takes a deep breath and manages to say, “Gerard.”

“When?”

“Two days ago.”

You run faster than you ever have towards a garbage can.

 

 

**Mikey**

After you’ve quit dry-heaving, you work your way over to the couch to sit. Pete brings you a bottle of water, and you jerk your head towards Frank.

Pete gives you a curious look.

“Pete, go get another fucking water bottle. No offense, but now isn’t the time to be a dick.”

He makes a shocked face, and you feel bad for a second, but then it hits you, once again: _My brother is dead and this whole journey has been a fucking waste._

Frank adjusts himself once he has a bottle of water, and says the most genuine ‘sorry’ that you’d _ever_ heard, and _that’s_ when you burst into tears.

 

 

**Frank**

Pete explains the situation and why you’re there when the two other people of his group get back. They give both you and Mikey these piss-poor sad little looks, and if anything, it pisses you off. Of course, they’re sincere and all, but you don’t need _pity._ Pity is the last thing you need right you.

You know what you need right now?

Some dick. You need some dick. Sex and alcohol fixes all problems. Obviously.

Okay, that’s a lie.

You _really_ need a nap and some TLC. Mikey starts gravitating towards you, and asking questions about Gerard. It doesn’t make you feel the best, but, Gerard’s his brother, so he deserves to know some things.

 

A week passes, and the group of teenagers that’d basically adopted you had apparently ran out of food. The final straw for Pete, at least, was when everyone had to eat… a concoction. You could pick out brown sugar, and definitely peanut butter.  You think there was rice, but you’d prefer not to believe that. Rice is nasty. Patrick and Joe swore by it, though.

You kind of laughed at Pete’s little meltdown over the lack of food, and Patrick’s quick and snarky reply.

 

Joe ducks out at some point, saying that he’s getting food. Pete is, again, having a mini-meltdown, and Mikey points out that the other boy had survived on his own for four months, and that a food run _shouldn’t_ completely ravage his asshole. You did a little more than ‘kind of’ laughing at Mikey’s last comment.

 

Patrick finally decides that the rest of you need to go look for food as well. You see Mikey make eye contact with Patrick for a split second. Patrick makes a slight pouty face before telling Pete to go with him. Pete gives Patrick some spiel about not wanting Mikey to be alone, and that’s when you get it. He’s like an overprotective mother, and Mikey’s the smothered teenager.

It’s a classic case of typical teenager bullshit. You’d gone through it yourself; you had enough experience to know.

 

You’re a bit befuddled at Mikey’s choice of weapon. It’s a smart choice, but it wasn’t one you were used to seeing. He had a fucking _sword._

You also realized that, similar to Gerard, he’s a fucking nerd.

“Jesus, sorry about Pete,” He grunts out as he attempts to pry the door to a store open.

“Why?”

“He’s normally not so… _”_

“Annoying?”

“Eh, close enough. He’s just—He’s been up my ass since the Gerard bullshit, and like, I get it, because he’s my boyfriend and he totally has a right to be worried, but holy fucking shit—he needs to take his head out of _my ass_ and place it somewhere else.”

“You… are so fucking blunt.”

“Picked it up from Patrick. _Trust me.”_

You snort. “I can see it.”

 

 

**Mikey**

Your week has been fan-fucking-tastic. First, you find out that your brother died. Second, you and Pete consummated your weird relationship, and since then he hasn’t had his head out of your fucking ass. (You didn’t tell Frank the sex part, because hey, you’re an awkward teenager. Apocalypse or not, you’re a hot mess.) And _third,_ you’re trapped in a fucking 7/11 with your dead brother’s boyfriend with absolutely no way to get out whatsoever. A fucking _wonderful_ week.

After a day or two, a decision is made. A decision that can be summed up into two words: Fuck it.

There wasn’t any other way to get out, and the two of you tried to find smart ways, you really did, but it just wasn’t happening. “I fucking hate hordes,” had been the last thing you’d said before kicking open the back exit to the store, and grabbing on to Frank’s arm to ensure that he didn’t get nabbed by a rotter. Gerard would probably resurrect himself to kill you if Frank died. You know your brother, and you have no doubt in your mind that he’d do that.

 

And _four._ The two of you are cut off from the rest of the group, and there isn’t any realistic way to get back without getting killed or injured. (Right away, at least.)

 

 

**Mikey**

“Frank, I can’t hotwire a car. That’s more Joe’s game. And, _obviously,_ you aren’t too great at it either. Fuck, why couldn’t I get stranded with Joe,” You’re muttering nonsense, and Frank is sighing, and dropping comments about you being like a granny once in a while. “We are _amazing_ at siphoning gas, but we can’t hotwire a damn car. It’s pathetic.”

“Mikey,” Frank starts in that _really_ calm voice that mothers get before rippin’ you a new one, “if you don’t shut the fuck up about how neither of us can hotwire a damn car I will literally go find a bicycle and leave you.”

You squint, but obey nonetheless.

After another hour of you trying to rush him and trying not to get frustrated about either of your skills with hotwiring a car (or lack thereof), the car _finally_ starts. It’s like the coming of Christ. _Again._

 

 

**Frank**

The ride back to the house was weird. You couldn’t place your finger on it at first, but after about ten minutes of listening to Pete and Mikey yelling at each other, you realize what the feeling was. The calm before the storm.

The two were in a different room, and you were attempting to do breathing exercises while avoiding eye contact with the other two.

_“How about instead of riding my fucking ass you act like a normal fucking person and just be glad I’m safe!”_

After a few versions of that sentence, you ask, “How old are all of you?”

“I’m nineteen, Mikey’s eighteen, Joe’s nineteen, and Pete’s twenty.”

You let out a mix between a groan and a sigh. _Fucking teenagers._

 

 

**Mikey**

You’re… shocked when Frank storms into the room.

“You,” he points at Pete, “are an asshole. We could’ve died but, _oh no,_ it’s your bullshit butt hurt feelings that take the motherfucking cake! He’s your boyfriend for Christ’s sake! Get out of your own fucking world for _one minute_ and _care!_ ”

You have to put a hand on your mouth to stop the sudden burst of laughter that’s threatening to break out. Frank has shocked you to the point that you just _have_ to laugh. You have _never_ heard about anyone, not even _Patrick,_ having the fucking gall to say anything even remotely similar to that to Pete.

Pete looks as if he’s been hit by a train, Frank looks livid, and you’re holding back laughter and in general just being unsure on how to respond, when you hear a low, drawn out, “Oh shit,” coming from the living room. It’s _that_ which makes your resolve crumble.

Frank lets out a heavy sigh, and Pete just looks at you and says, “Oops.”

“’Sorry’ would’ve been a better answer.”

 

 

**Frank**

A few weeks after the shouting match between Pete and Mikey, Joe goes missing, and Patrick breaks his ankle. Mikey and Pete go out to look for Joe, and you babysit Patrick. You’re on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, reading a shitty smut novel, and tuning the younger boy out as he gripes about various things.

After a while, Patrick seems to get the hint and he stops talking as much. The silence becomes awkward for you, though, so you decide to ask about Pete and Mikey. “How long have they been together?”

“I dunno. Probably two months after? Andy, one of our friends, he died and Mikey had to watch so Pete kind of was there for him. Pete’s had a crush on him since he was seventeen, though. He has tried _so hard_ to talk to the kid, and it’s the fucking apocalypse that brings them together. Ridiculous, honestly. I kind of wish they would’ve gotten a chance to be a normal couple.”

“They seem good together.”

“Yeah. They fight and all, but there’s a good balance. Mikey’s patient, but doesn’t take shit, and Pete just needs someone to hold him down, like, keep his head level and shit.”

“Makes sense. When you care for someone like that you can get pretty patient, you know? Probably why I was able to put up with some of the shit his brother pulled.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Probably why I can put up with some of Joe’s bullshit.” You raise your eyebrows, and he rattles on about something else before he pauses, and the realization of what he’d just said sets in. “Don’t you _dare_ say anything, or I will take a knife to your genitals.”

“Loose lips sink ships, dude.”

 

 

**Mikey**

Pete’s being _insufferable._ You love him, you do, or you think you do, but he’s just being an ass. He ridiculing you and basically being a primadonna. You get that he’s trying to care and all, and that it’s just how he acts when he’s worried, but it doesn’t mean you’re 100% okay with it.

“Pete, shut the fuck up. You bitching about every single thing I do and undermining me every chance you get isn’t going to get Joe found any faster. How about instead of acting like my superior, you act like my peer, and _help_ me.”

“Well, _Michael,_ I don’t see how sitting on our asses trying to theorize is going to help him get found.”

“ _Peter,_ it’s better than either of us going in blind and being rash. We can’t afford to be rash. It’s literally a life or death situation. We have to be _smart._ We can’t just half ass this!”

You’re being a bit of a bitch too, though, if you’re honest. None of you had slept well in months, and exhaustion was only a given at that point. Each of you were frustrated, too, with everything, and frustration tends to read its ugly head in various ways.

 

 

**Mikey**

Joe is found, _alive._

Well, not so much as found, but more like he shows up with a fucking 18-wheeler filled with _huge_ cases of canned food and other nonperishables. He walks in at probably midnight, nonchalantly, and continues to keep the nonchalant act up even with everyone holding guns and/or knives in his face. “I found a Costco.”

“You disappeared for two weeks because you found a fucking Costco?” Patrick looks as if he’s about to have a stroke.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“You can’t just pop on over to a fucking Costco without telling anyone, dude!”

“I found weed too?”

Frank perks up immediately at that, and so does Pete. “Fucking Christ,” is all you can mutter under your breath. “I’m surrounded by stoners, and I’m going back to bed.”

 

 

**Frank**

Two months pass, and you’re all probably in fucking Wyoming or something. You’re all exhausted and pissed off as well. It’s a given. Everyone’s at each other’s throats, and in general the situation isn’t a favorable one.

You’re leaning on one of the cars, smoking a cigarette, and trying to find some peace of mind. Mikey and Pete are standing just out of earshot, discussing something, and probably arguing. It’s been a recurring theme, lately. They have a huge argument, are fine for a few weeks, then rinse and repeat.

This time was different, though. The stability between them had been getting worse and worse, or at least you think. Mikey ended up just coming to you to vent, and obviously you were biased in the first place since he’s your dead boyfriend’s brother, but after hearing some of the shit Pete had said, you became _so_ much more biased.

“Your existence doesn’t fucking revolve around me, Pete! Look out for your goddamn self for a minute! I can take care of myself! I don’t _need_ you!” At this, you put the cigarette out and focus your attention more on the couple.

Patrick’s making occasional eye contact with you, as if to say, “If they start throwing punches we need to hold them back.”

Pete looks shocked. Obviously. It’s not a huge surprise. “Don’t _need_ me? You would be _dead_ without me!”

“It’d be better than listening to your fucking insults day in and day out!”

“What the fuck is your issue?”

You glance over at Patrick, and almost laugh. His eyes are closed, and he seems to be doing breathing exercises. “Pete is such an asshole. If Mikey doesn’t punch him I w-”

And there you go. Cue the sound of a fist hitting and probably breaking a nose, and Pete yelling. You and Patrick jog over to break up the ‘lover’s quarrel.’

 

 

**Mikey**

For as short as Frank is, he’s pretty good at not letting you beat the shit out of Pete. He’d dragged you off to go sit against the wall of an abandoned restaurant and to smoke. (You were expecting a cigarette, but instead got a lungful of weed.) “Christ, warn me next time.”

Frank shrugs. “You alright?”

“Not really. I’m pissed off, frustrated, _hungry,_ and, sorry for sounding like a chick, but I feel heartbroken. Fucking Pete—he’s supposed to like, be all compassionate and shit, but he’s turned into a dick. I wish the circumstances were different, because I’m sure he has the potential to be a great guy—hell, he _was_ a great guy. I guess eight months of trauma can do that to you, though.” You pick up a pebble from beside you and throw it.

“It fucking sucks, but, this shit can change you, y’know? Before all of this I was just some burnout slutting it up with your brother, and a few other people if I’m honest.”

“Please tell me you didn’t cheat on him, dude.”

“Fuck no. I had a lack of morals, but I wasn’t that shitty. I don’t know how to explain it, but it wasn’t cheating. Your brother was pretty much the love of my life, and I wouldn’t do that to him.”

You nod, and lean over to rest your head on his shoulder. “Sometimes I wish I could just run off. Like, what’s stopping me? Pete hasn’t be great to me, and you know Patrick and Joe will always be loyal to him. My brother’s dead, and aside from you, I’m pretty much alone. Shit, I’m pretty sure _my_ friends are dead. This is such a load of shit.”

He shifts and wraps an arm around you. “I’m sorry, dude.”

“Not your fault, Frank.”

 

 

**Frank**

The other three come back about half an hour or so after you and Mikey come back. Patrick has a split lip, and looks more livid than you’ve ever seen him. Pete has a black eye, and his nose is swollen to probably ten times its regular size. You get into the driver’s seat of the car that you’d been driving beforehand, and Pete’s about to get into the back, but Patrick grabs him by the collar of his shirt, saying, “You’re riding with Joe. I’ve had enough of your shit.” Pete looks dejected, but he doesn’t object.

Patrick takes Pete’s place in back, and Mikey gets into the passenger’s seat. “Thanks, Patrick.” Your heart breaks just a little bit at that. He sounds so defeated, and he proves that by sleeping all the way until the next stop.

 

 

Pete and Mikey don’t talk to each other much after that. They don’t show any signs of wanting to make up, and Mikey informs you that he broke it off with Pete since he was tired of his shit. You congratulate him by saying, “Good. Look out for yourself, dude.”

Apocalypse or not, no one deserves to be in an unhealthy relationship.

 

 

**Mikey**

A month after the Wyoming incident, you’re sitting on a couch in some fancy farmhouse in Oregon with Frank, and watching Patrick and Joe. The two of them are bickering a bit and carrying stuff around, but working in tandem nonetheless.

Eventually, Patrick notices the two (or three, but you like pretending Pete doesn’t exist) staring at him, and asks, “What?” He’s a bit sweaty and he looks exasperated. Frank raises his eyebrows, and Patrick squints. It takes a second, but you make the connection. _Patrick has the hots for Joe. Holy shit._

Back to the topic of the house, though, it’s a nice one, it’s pretty secluded, and in an open space. It’s pretty much perfect. Aside from the occasional horde, of course.

The room situation was a bit awkward, since Pete apparently expected you to room with him, and acted shocked when you rudely declined. You ended up rooming with Frank, because for whatever irrational reason, you were afraid of Pete. (Frank informs you that it’s perfectly reasonable, but you brush him off.)

Patrick and Joe try to be sly about rooming with each other, but of course, the rest of you catch on almost immediately.

 

 

**Mikey**

Pete, Patrick, and Joe go out for a few days to go scavenge, which left you and Frank alone. They said they’re going to be gone for a few days, maybe a week, and said not to worry.

After a few hours of being alone with Frank, and reading some dumb novel, you’re noticing something. He paces. Obsessively. Worse than you’ve ever seen. “Frank, sit down.”

He submits. “I’m having a shitty day. I miss your brother, and I’m freaking out about _everything.”_

“I miss my friends, honestly.”

“Tell me about your friend.”

“You first.”

“Party people and weed dealers were my friends. Not really that interesting.”

“Ah. Okay, well, I had a group of friends. I think Brendon would be the most notable. He’s one of those drama students that everyone either loves or despises. His boyfriend was a fucking prick, though, and I remember Pete punching him at some point. He had a girlfriend the last time I saw him though. She’s good for him.”

Frank nods.

“Then there’s fucking _Tyler and Josh._ They’re connected at the damn hip. I wasn’t ever too close to them. I mostly just hung around them just because I needed a few people around so I wouldn’t get picked on. Honestly, I think Josh is gay, and I had a bet going on with Brendon on how long it’d take him to ask Tyler out. Tyler also had a long term girlfriend, but they broke up I think? Shit, normally I’d remember stuff like that. Life’s just been too hectic.”

“Yeah, totally dude.”

“You know what still gets me? Josh’s hair. He _always_ had it colored, and it _always_ stayed a strong color. I don’t know how the fuck he did it. It’s a mystery.”

“Speaking of, your _brother_ and his hair dye, oh my god. Before all this shit, he was obsessive about it, and after this shit, he still would drag me out to go find boxes of Revlon.”

You laugh. “That sounds like him. To be honest, I clung to my hair straighteners as long as possible. After the power cut, though, I just… well, you can see my hair. It’s a wavy mess.”

 

 

**Mikey**

On the second night of being alone with Frank, the two of you stay up, talking. He tells you all these magnificent stories about his teen years, and some of the shit he’d gotten himself into. He talks about a bunch of trivial and irrelevant things, but you pretty much suck it all up like a sponge because, somehow, he makes it interesting.

You tell him some stories about your friends. He tells you that the favorite one you’d told him was the one about Tyler climbing on top of the art building, and how the school had to call in a fire truck to get his ass down. He says that the incident with Brendon streaking through the senior hall is a close second, though. You agree with him.

 

 

**Frank**

At some point, you go out on a run with Mikey and Patrick, and have to sleep in the bed of a truck. It’s uncomfortable, and the three of you have to use each other’s body head to keep warm, so a three-way cuddle pile was formed. It was going well, and you managed to sleep a bit, but when you woke up in the morning…

Well, let’s put it this way: Waking up with two teenagers pressing their morning wood against your legs in their sleep isn’t the best way to wake up.

 

 

**Mikey**

At the one year mark, you’re in some weird semi-not platonic relationship with Frank, you’ve somewhat made up with Pete, and it’s fucking _hot._ A wall had been constructed around the farmhouse, and fortifications were added to it when possible. Some guy shows up, and after being questioned thoroughly, he becomes part of the group. He sticks around for about four months before taking off to try finding his original group.

 

You’d gone roughly seven months without fighting with Pete. It was nice, being able to talk to him without wanting to tear him a new asshole. Of course, the dry spell had to be broken at some point. You’d gotten into a hairy situation while out with Joe trying to find some metal to fortify the wall with.

You’d dropped some sheet metal, and it leaves a long, fairly deep cut on your upper arm. Joe managed to keep his cool, which you were thankful for. He helped stop the bleeding and rushed you back to the farmhouse.

Essentially, Pete had blown a gasket over it, you’d slapped him and told him off, and Frank came to console you and help you patch up the wound. Pete had stormed out, and Patrick had gone after him.

“He’s such a fuckin’ ass- ow, shit, Frank! Warn me before you pour alcohol on my arm, Christ.”

“Sorry, dude. It had to be done. But yeah, he is an ass. That’s not news.”

“I know, but you’d figure that he’d _grow up,_ you know? Not just become even more of a brat. Shit, he’s what, twenty-one? He acts like a child.”

“And you’re nineteen.”

“And you’re like 500.”

“I’m twenty six, and I’m not afraid to pour some more alcohol on your arm.”

“Okay, uncle, I give. You’re eighty.”

He holds up the bottle of rubbing alcohol, and gives you a pointed look.

 

 

**Mikey**

Joe and Patrick pull you aside a few days after the previous fight. “Mikey, I’m sorry, but this shit with you and Pete has gone too far. Either the two of you need to make up, or the group needs to split up. The yelling is just going to draw rotters closer, and quite frankly, we’re tired of hearing the same old bullshit over and over.”

You don’t really know what to say. You know, deep down, that you and Pete won’t work out or permanently make up, but you don’t want to risk breaking the group up, since it could prove to be dangerous. (Though, on the other hand, it might be safer to have a smaller group.)

You kind of feel like you got the wind knocked out of you from a sucker punch or some other bullshit. You know that they didn’t mean it to sound as if they wanted you to leave, but it didn’t stop the feeling of having your best friends basically betray you.

“We’ve given Pete the same speech. He says that he wants to make up.”

You stand there for a while, shifting, and thinking. “I… think it might be wise to split up.”

The two other boys look sad, but they say that they understand.

 

 

**Frank**

Mikey tells you the news, and you don’t try to protest because you knew it was the only possible outcome in the end. You didn’t have a great feeling about leaving, but again, there wasn’t anything to be done.

Once the two of you set off, things go downhill pretty fucking quick.

First off, you guys slide off the road due to ice. You break a few ribs, and Mikey breaks a collar bone. The two of you were too far away from the farmhouse to go back, and be safe.

After the crash, the two of you manage to find another abandoned house. You set Mikey’s collar bone, and the two of you try to get some sleep. History repeats itself; good things never last.

Rotters manage to get into the house, and they get Mikey first.

You’re next.


End file.
